


Forever (In Their Hands)

by Nathalaia



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Multi, Romance, Smut, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-25 01:27:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4941388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nathalaia/pseuds/Nathalaia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Yifan came to this town, he had expected to get the quiet he so valued, to be left to his own devices. What he had gotten instead was one Park Chanyeol.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forever (In Their Hands)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!
> 
> Right, so, this fic was meant to be a short PWP, but _here we are, ~14.300 words later_. I blame my muses, and my beta, [MegLee06](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MegLee06/pseuds/MegLee06). And my mind. Sigh.
> 
> This will be my first vampire!AU, and my first KrisYeol, so yay! The setting is, eh, inspired by Victorian, but… Well. It takes place in some unnamed town, in some undated time, so. It might as well take place in the medieval times, but anyway!
> 
> To avoid confusion, I will point out that approximately half of the scenes take place in some past, whilst the others happen, well, 'now'. Due to the effect it created, I refrained from using italics, which may make me a bad writer; however, I used tildes (~) and 'o's. A tilde indicates past, whilst an 'o' indicates present.
> 
> For the FITH POSTER, check link: http://i.imgur.com/SJTvRT9.png  
> (Credits go to http://www.asianfanfics.com/story/view/847707/spotlight-posters-open-hiring-angst-graphics-poster-request-romance-postershop-graphicshop)
> 
> Right. I hope you enjoy, lovely readers!

There was many a hushed whisper about the man residing in the mansion just up the hill. Caused by the lack of sighting, the man in question was rumoured to be many things, of which ghost or even living dead seemed to be what the majority of the townsfolk were more inclined to believe. Of course, there were those who shook their heads at such absurd notions. _Superstition_ , they’d insist, because that was all it was. Ghosts were characters of stories, along with the living dead; _children’s_ stories, they were, to teach the young ones morals and respect, and to keep them near their mothers lest they get themselves into trouble. Nothing more, nothing less.

Fantasy or not, the man in the mansion remained shrouded in mystery. Children would often challenge each other to see who dared to venture closest to the building, and those who did were applauded and considered brave by their peers. Others would tell tales of a looming silhouette in the window, of eyes red, of noises barely distinguishable, but maybe screams.

Rumours were like seeds in the young ones’ hearts, and soon grew to reach the ears of adults.

One truth remained, however, and that was that the mansion did not stand empty.

Park Chanyeol knew this, and therefore it never ceased to amuse him when he caught snippets of words about _the man in the mansion_. The townsfolk would never learn of this, but they were in fact closer to the mark than they most likely thought.

In the mansion resided a man who had once been human; a man whose strands of hair were dipped in gold, and whose eyes, brown by nature, would sometimes flash crimson; a man whose height exceeded even Chanyeol, if only by a few inches, and whose body was lean and moved with a grace Chanyeol had never thought possible; a man whose knowledge by far surpassed even the wisest teachers and scholars, because he had been around for much longer than any of them, even if the smooth lines of his face spoke of someone not a day older than twenty-five.

In the mansion resided Wu Yifan.

But to Chanyeol, he was so much more than a silhouette in the window.

o

Yifan had always appreciated solitude. He was notorious for being quite the loner, settling in the outskirts of towns with no fellow walkers of the night within miles’ reach. It wasn’t that he disliked his own kin (he rather enjoyed the gatherings he attended from time to time throughout the year, though he by far preferred the less formal ones with a few friends), and it wasn’t that he deluded himself into believing he still could pose as a human.

It was much simpler than that.

Sometimes, he just needed a breather. The thought of _forever_ no longer had as powerful an impact on him as it once had; he had been a walker of the night long enough for a year, a _decade_ , to have little meaning to him, after all. _Years_ didn’t matter, in the long run, when he had forever to look forward to.

But that did not mean it didn’t have an effect at all.

For humans, time was what drove them. Their time was limited, and death always came unannounced. Thus, they strove to get the best out of life, because they never knew when it would all end.

For walkers of the night, however, time became meaningless. It was a liberating realisation, as much as it was a burdensome one. For newly turned walkers of the night, the idea of _forever_ sent excitement coursing through their veins. The world was at their very feet, and nothing stood in the way for them to explore it. But eventually, without doubt, they would come to understand the implications of eternity.

It was not without reason that old walkers of the night were so respected, because even with forever in your hands, it wasn’t _enough_. Nothing was ever enough, and that concept was only really understood when you had everything.

Few lasted long enough to be considered part of the elders.

And for Yifan, forever sometimes became a burden. Thus, he escaped to somewhere secluded to spend a few decades whilst he sought for something to make the idea of forever worthwhile, if only for a limited amount of time.

When he came to this town, he had expected to get the quiet he so valued, to be left to his own devices. What he had gotten instead was one Park Chanyeol.

Lounging on the silky black bedsheets with only a night robe lazily covering his otherwise naked body, the man in question filled the room with his humming as he leafed through the pages of a book of random choice (one of the many Yifan had stashed in his personal library), head moving in time with the tune. Where Yifan actually enjoyed the act of reading, Chanyeol was merely biding time, his brown orbs skimming the words instead of immersing himself in the stories the pages bore. A pity, really.

“Are you thirsty?”

Yifan was shaken from his musings by the other’s voice, and his eyes shifted to focus on Chanyeol. The male in his bed lifted his gaze from the book and blinked at Yifan, a bushy eyebrow arched in silent inquiry.

“I have felt your eyes on me for minutes, now,” he said, the corner of his lips tugging upwards in a faint smile. “Is it because you need a drink,” the expression gave into a leering smirk, “or are you merely enjoying the view?”

Yifan leaned forward on his elbows with a snort, lacing his fingers together to rest his chin on them as his gaze swept over the man. With long limbs, a blinding smile, bright hazel eyes and soft, brown curls atop his head, the man was quite an ethereal sight. A curious notion, when Yifan was supposed to be the otherworldly being, not Chanyeol.

He knew not what drew him to Chanyeol like a water sprite to a stream, but there was undeniably something about the male that enticed him. Perhaps it was how his happiness was always as sincere and infectious as a child’s, how his emotions always showed on his face or in his actions, how he seemed to feel them with his whole being. Or perhaps it was the blood pumping through his veins, a nectar sweeter than any Yifan had ever had the pleasure of tasting.

Perhaps it was simply the _life_ the other displayed in everything he did that had Yifan on his knees.

Aware that Chanyeol was waiting, he cleared his throat and shook his head. “No,” he murmured, “it is not the thirst. I was lost in thought, is all.”

Chanyeol hummed, rolling over on his stomach and dumping the book on the bedside table. His middle and index finger reached up to trace the bite mark on his neck as he absently murmured, “Well, you last drank not that long ago, so I guess you wouldn’t be thirsty now.”

Yifan tilted his head forward in a nod. “A few hours ago.”

Getting to his feet and leaving the desk, he settled on the edge of the bed, reaching with a hand to card his fingers through the other’s curls. “Dawn is not many hours ahead. You should get some rest. Going with little sleep over several days is hardly healthy.”

“And for _whom_ am I staying up this late?” Chanyeol countered cheekily, though he sobered up with his next words. “I wish I could spend more time with you.”

Had it been a few months ago, Yifan would have thought of those words as being nothing but wistful, carrying no hidden meaning, but now, he was all too aware of what Chanyeol was hinting at. It had him pausing for the briefest of moments, hand stilling atop Chanyeol’s head, before he continued petting the other’s hair.

“I never demand of you to stay up with me. That is your own choice,” murmured Yifan, feigning obliviousness when Chanyeol pouted at the dropped bait. They both knew that Yifan, while he truly loved Chanyeol, hesitated when the younger brought up the topic of being turned. He had snapped at Chanyeol only a few weeks prior when he had asked him why he didn’t just turn him. Later, Yifan apologised for his reaction, and Chanyeol accepted it with a kiss.

It didn’t stop him from trying, however. A few times a day, he’d find a way to somehow drop these insinuations. He refused to yield, even if he had learned to cloak them in an innocently posed question or a casual remark after that one episode.

And, to be completely fair, Yifan understood Chanyeol’s quiet frustration with him. But Yifan had his reasons for not turning Chanyeol on the spot, even if he had yet to explain himself to his lover. It just wasn’t that simple. Not when it was a matter of forever.

The sigh Chanyeol let out teetered the edge of contemplative, but, thankfully, he chose not to pursue the topic. He dropped his head on the pillow, a soft sound leaving him when Yifan’s hand trailed down the back of his head to stroke his neck.

“Get some sleep,” Yifan said, smiling shortly at the other’s nod. Then Chanyeol muffled something into the pillow, and Yifan had to lean closer and ask him to repeat it to catch his words.

“Stay with me until I fall asleep?”

Chuckling, Yifan reached over Chanyeol to grasp one corner of the blanket. Settling down by his lover’s side, he covered both of them with the blanket before throwing his arm around Chanyeol, pulling him against his chest. He leaned down to kiss along the younger’s neck, making no attempts at concealing his smirk when it pulled a shiver from the younger, before pressing his lips to the mark on his throat.

“Sweet dreams, my love.”

~

In the start, Chanyeol had not given much thought to his new employer. Instead, he had directed his whole attention to the work at hand: Maintaining the garden. He watered the plants on days where rain was nowhere in sight, pruned the bushes and trees, trimmed the lawn, removed weeds, and generally ensured the garden stood proud and beautiful.

But after two week’s employment, he started to speculate.

He questioned why someone would be so concerned about their garden when no one dared venture close enough to actually appreciate the sight of the blooming roses raking up the dark walls of the mansion, or the pond with the water lilies, or the expertly pruned bushes. It seemed like such a waste of effort, even if Chanyeol enjoyed tending to the garden.

But what bothered him the most was how he had never laid eyes on the very man inside the estate. The heavy draperies hanging above the large windows would be drawn, day and night, shielding the interior from prying eyes. Never did Chanyeol catch sight of any movement, or hear the slightest sound hinting at life. The very man who had wanted someone to tend to his garden never came out to appreciate it.

It was almost eerie, Chanyeol would think as he found his gaze lingering on the windows more often these days, trying to catch a glimpse of the evasive owner, how silent it was here.

But even with his overactive curiosity, he wasn’t without common sense. When he had seen the poster in the town, hanging innocently by the Town Hall, he had hesitated. That morning, the townspeople had gossiped left and right, and it was with little effort that Chanyeol had learned that the poster had simply appeared sometime overnight. There had been no sighting of whom had hung it there, but everyone knew the moment they read the poster.

_The Ghost_ was hiring. Specifically, he was looking for someone to tend to his garden. The pay would be measured by the amount of labour done. If anyone were interested, they were to show up at the mansion.

No one had been particularly interested in going, muttering about curses and bad omens, things Chanyeol didn’t care much for, even if the thought of applying _did_ leave him apprehensive. He had never believed the words of the townsfolk about the man in the mansion. Chanyeol reckoned the man just didn’t necessarily fancy people, and thus stayed inside. It was not a problem. And yet, it _was_ odd for someone to have never been spotted after living in the mansion for four years.

It was the need for money that had eventually resulted in him showing up at the mansion one morning. He was met with a note that instructed him on what to do and then to come back the next day, where, if the work had been done to satisfaction, he’d get paid and the offer to stay, and if not, he’d get a smaller sum of money for his trouble and told to leave.

Chanyeol had stayed. But his curiosity continued to grow with each day.

o

Yifan liked the contrast of white and black. It was something so simple, yet aesthetic pleasing to his eye, as his gaze travelled the length of Chanyeol’s body spread out on his sheets. His pale skin glistened in the moonlight, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and nothing more. There were imperfections, but those blemishes were what made him so beautiful; they told a story of labour, and of living. Yifan no longer scarred. Not for long. But if he so wished, he could leave his marks on Chanyeol, and they’d be there for days.

Lifting his eyes to Chanyeol’s hands, he reached out to gently run his forefinger over the black silk tying the younger’s wrists together, tightened to be just shy of painful. It was a delight, seeing the silk snuggled so close to Chanyeol’s skin, knowing it would leave red marks that would unveil themselves the moment he allowed the cloth to fall loose.

He leaned closer, hovering over Chanyeol’s form as the pads of his fingers trailed down his arm, feather light brushes, up the other’s jaw to run his thumb over a pair of parted lips, coaxing a shaky sigh from the man.

Yifan lounged on the edge of the bed, caressing the other’s skin with no hurry, even as Chanyeol’s breath was coming shallower. It amused him, to have Chanyeol already worked up like this, his cock half hard between his legs even if all Yifan had done up until this point was undress him, tie him to the bedposts, and take away his sight. The younger’s cheeks were tinted pink, a breathy whimper drawn from his mouth when Yifan’s palm came to rest on his inner thigh, just a hair’s breadth from where Chanyeol wanted him.

He reached up with his free hand to touch the black silk covering Chanyeol’s eyes, a pair of fingertips sneaking under the soft fabric as he leaned closer, breath fanning over Chanyeol’s lips. He smiled when the younger whined, tongue darting out to wet his lips. Whether unconscious or not, Yifan didn’t know, but he wouldn’t give in to the temptation of catching his tongue between his teeth.

“Do you think I can bring you to the edge like this?” Yifan asked in a low timbre. He caressed Chanyeol’s temple as he continued, posing questions both men knew he didn’t want answered with words. “I wonder how far I can take you. Can I take you apart with only my hands? Can I make you come untouched?”

Chanyeol’s moan coaxed a crooked smile from Yifan, and he reached up to hold the younger’s jaw between his fingers before he dipped down to press a chaste kiss to the corner of Chanyeol’s mouth. He nipped at Chanyeol’s bottom lip, licked at the top, before swallowing the other’s whine in a hard kiss.

Without breaking the contact, Yifan shifted, the bed dipping under his weight as he moved to hover over the younger with his hips sandwiched between Yifan’s thighs. Chanyeol released a breathy noise at the feeling of Yifan’s clothed crotch pressing against his erection, tempted to rut into him, but refraining, because he knew better.

Chanyeol knew that if he were good, Yifan would reward him. And Yifan’s rewards would always be worth it, in the end. Two years had long removed any lingering doubt in his mind.

The man let out another whine when Yifan’s mouth fell to his shoulder, his hot breath sending a tingling sensation through Chanyeol’s body, tense with anticipation. Soft lips left a trail of fire on his skin in its wake, feather light kisses from his shoulder, his throat, just below his ear, a tongue licking into the shell –

Yifan loved how every touch of his received a stronger reaction from Chanyeol after taking away his sight, setting the nectar flowing through his veins ablaze, the scent almost more arousing than Chanyeol’s body naked on his bed.

But Yifan lamented the lack of sight all the same.

He sacrificed seeing the glazed over look in Chanyeol’s eyes when he was caught in the heat Yifan’s roaming fingers left behind. He couldn’t see the way his eyes would squeeze shut when Yifan grabbed his cock tightly in his fist or pinched his nipple, couldn’t witness the darkened flash of hunger in his gaze when Yifan pressed searing kisses into his skin, or the needy, desperate look he’d give Yifan when he thought he was taking too damn long.

However, it was a sacrifice Yifan was willing to make. Later, when they would be snuggled in bed, bodies humming with pleasure, Chanyeol’s eyes would meet Yifan’s, and he’d be smiling this bright, tired smile, a love in his gaze that had even Yifan a little weak in his knees.

Besides, Chanyeol was vocal enough to make up for the temporary lack of sight. Yifan could settle with the noises. Every whine, every moan, and every scream. He revelled each time his name passed Chanyeol’s lips.

And right on cue.

“ _Yifan._ ”

As though it were a prayer, Chanyeol whimpered his name, a breathless sound that snapped Yifan’s attention back to his lover. He hummed into the other’s ear, tongue darting out to lick at the shell once more, before blowing out a breath. A shiver ran through the man beneath him, joined by another shallow noise.

“Tell me,” Yifan murmured, mouthing at Chanyeol’s jaw, “what you want.”

“ _Use me,_ ” Chanyeol whimpered, arching his back and spreading his legs. “Please, please -”

Yifan’s hand went down, leaving the ghost of a touch on Chanyeol’s cock before continuing lower, fingers splaying on his left butt cheek. Nails bit into the soft skin, pulling a whiny cry from Chanyeol.

“Ssh,” Yifan breathed, two fingers circling the rim, a slight smirk falling over his expression for a brief moment when he looked down to see how the hole clenched around nothing, when he saw how much Chanyeol’s body craved him. “Relax.”

Chanyeol probably needed no preparation. He should already be stretched and ready for Yifan, but they both enjoyed the foreplay, and Yifan always took good care in ensuring Chanyeol wouldn’t suffer any pain he hadn’t asked for.

When Yifan dipped his fingers into Chanyeol, just to the first knuckle, the man’s hips faltered, along with his breath, coaxing a moan from him that Yifan was quick to swallow with his mouth. Working his fingers in deeper and scissoring them, he breathed harshly against the other’s lips, his calm cracking around the edges for each gasp and whimper and moan that dripped from Chanyeol’s mouth like liquid gold.

He felt the familiar tug, the burning _need_ to bury his fangs in Chanyeol’s neck, _so close_ , to drink him up as he brought him to the brink of orgasm and tipped him over the edge, only to catch him mid-air and help him back on the ground. But he had to be patient. He couldn’t bite yet, couldn’t taste, not _yet._ He had to hold on just a little longer, for the blood would always taste that bit sweeter when in the throes of pleasure.

Adding a third finger, Yifan sat back and pushed Chanyeol’s legs further apart, eyes drinking up the sight of his lover, now that he couldn’t drink the nectar rushing through his veins. He could _hear_ it, the blood, pumping around in Chanyeol’s body. It was a steady beat against his eardrums, tempting him, but no, not yet –

Chanyeol was, by now, reduced to a babbling mess. “Yifan, please, I’m ready, I -”

Yifan hushed him again, pulling out his fingers and drying them off in the sheets, need shooting through him at Chanyeol’s whine when his ass clenched around air. He needed something to fill him, and Yifan would be there in a moment. He had not the patience, not tonight, to bring Chanyeol to tears with only his fingers and nothing more.

He leaned forward, rummaging through the upper cupboard in the bedside table for the bottle of oil. Making quick work of coating his cock with the substance, he shifted, grabbing Chanyeol’s hips and pulling him closer, his tailbone coming to rest on Yifan’s lap. Chanyeol’s legs locked around Yifan’s waist as Yifan lined up and, with one swift thrust, bottomed out inside the younger. He didn’t give Chanyeol time to catch his breath before he pulled out, far enough for the ridge to catch on the rim, and then thrust back inside, quickly setting an unforgiving pace.

Chanyeol was writhing under him, crying out each time Yifan aimed for his prostate, a cascade of shallow breaths and moans escaping him with each thrust. The world’s most beautiful symphony, in Yifan’s ears. It spurred him on, how Chanyeol didn’t hold back, didn’t try to lower the volume of his voice. His cries rang through the room, mixing with Yifan’s grunts, skin slapping against skin.

With a hand holding Chanyeol’s hip tightly, he leaned up to catch Chanyeol’s bottom lip, rolling it between his teeth as Chanyeol cried out at a particularly hard thrust.

Heat burned low in Yifan’s belly, senses heightened, body tingling with desire and _need_. He wouldn’t last long. Not with Chanyeol’s sweet cries, not with how he was clenching around Yifan’s cock, not with how the blood was rushing through his veins, calling out for Yifan.

Chanyeol was whispering his name, over and over again, his voice hoarse, but still so _beautiful_ in its ruin, and Yifan could wait no longer. He pressed a fleeting kiss to the corner of Chanyeol’s mouth, brushed his lips over his jaw, before nuzzling into his neck, breathing in his sweet scent and savouring it for a moment. His tongue darted out to lick at Chanyeol’s throat, salty condensation clinging to his skin, and he felt Chanyeol’s body go tense under him.

That was his cue.

Chanyeol sobbed when Yifan’s fangs pierced his skin, _finally_ , drinking up the sweet nectar that flowed from Chanyeol’s body without letting as much as a single precious drop go to waste. His thrusts never slowed in pace, even caught in the euphoria as he was, hips slamming against Chanyeol’s and burying his cock deep in Chanyeol’s warmth every time, until Chanyeol was shouting his name and spilling his seed between them. His hole clenched around Yifan’s cock, and Yifan was seconds away from meeting his own end.

Chanyeol was shuddering under him, drawing in sharp intakes of air in-between whimpers, and Yifan buried himself deep inside the other man as he painted his inner walls red with his come, hips jerking a few times before they stilled.

Coming back from the blood rush and his orgasm, Yifan gently released Chanyeol’s throat, humming at Chanyeol’s whine and soothing the tender wound with his tongue. He pulled out of the younger, before he reached out to take off the damp silk covering Chanyeol’s eyes, letting it fall down before proceeding to loosen the silk around his wrists. When it was off, he dipped down to gently kiss the other man, tongue trailing his bottom lip and licking up the few drops of blood left from Chanyeol’s own teeth, having bit his lip in ecstasy.

“How are you feeling?” he asked quietly, fingers rubbing Chanyeol’s wrists gently to get the blood flow back.

“Good,” Chanyeol croaked, throwing Yifan a bright, if tired, smile. “Very good.”

“Good,” Yifan echoed, shifting to brush away stray tears on Chanyeol’s cheeks with his thumb. “You should get some sleep. I’ll clean you up.”

Chanyeol hummed, eyes already drifting shut with exhaustion, and by the time Yifan had cleaned them both and changed into a robe, Chanyeol was fast asleep under the covers, breathing steady. Peacefully.

Yifan didn’t join him readily. Instead, he sat himself at his work desk, resting his chin in his palm as he watched Chanyeol sleep fondly. He could watch him for hours, _has_ watched him for hours before, and yet he never grew tired of watching Chanyeol draw breath after breath in his slumber. He couldn’t keep from grinning at the soft snore coming from the other, the way his lips parted, face completely relaxed.

Yifan’s mood changed quickly, though, the smile fading around the edges, before ultimately slipping away. He huffed out a breath, closing his eyes as he let his worries rush back, even if his body were still humming with pleasure. It felt empty now, fleeting.

He needed a solution. But he wouldn’t find one on his own.

~

“Have you ever bitten yourself by accident?”

“No.”

“What does regular food taste like now?”

“Stale.”

Yifan sighed when Chanyeol continued posing question after question, each one more ridiculous than the last (“Can you get drunk?”). Yes, he bathed, no, he did not sleep in a coffin (where did he even get that idea?) and _no, he had never been chased by villagers with stakes and pitchforks._

Truthfully, when Yifan had sat down with Chanyeol to finally let him in on his secret after months of friendship, he had envisioned many different directions in which the admission could have gone. Anger, and or terror, he would have understood, but never had he imagined that Chanyeol would merely blink at him for a minute straight, before innocently asking, “So you turn into a bat?”

At Yifan’s stunned stare, he had just grinned bashfully and run a hand through his already mussed hair.

Despite the _absurd_ questions (“Have you ever broken a fang? Do they grow back?”), Chanyeol’s reaction only confirmed that Yifan had been right to tell the other about himself. The human neither feared nor looked upon him with disgust or anger; rather, he seemed fascinated with the idea of walkers of the night, considering all the queries he fired off. And even if half of them left Yifan wondering if Chanyeol hadn’t hit his head when he was a child, they entertained him. A stark difference to the monotony he had surrounded himself with up until now.

Until Chanyeol showed up.

He realised a little too late how quiet Chanyeol had suddenly gone. Lifting his gaze from the other’s hands (he was fiddling with the fabric of his pants), he frowned at the sight of Chanyeol seemingly curling into himself. He didn’t like this significant change in the younger’s demeanour, nor the way it had appeared rather suddenly.

“Chanyeol?”

The human didn’t look up, but he did wet his lips, opening his mouth to say something, only to close it again. When he finally did speak, his voice was soft.

“How many people have you killed?”

Yifan’s eyes fell closed as he sighed, grasping his glass of wine tighter as he sat up straight in the couch, legs uncrossing to have both feet resting on the floor. Out of all the questions the younger had asked for the last ten minutes, he had expected that one to be among them. Once again, Chanyeol had surprised him by not immediately inquiring about it, but, alas, it was not to last. And Yifan didn’t blame him.

He just prayed it wouldn’t be what drove Chanyeol away from him.

“I stopped counting long ago,” Yifan gently admitted. His heart dropped a little at Chanyeol’s flinch, but he stayed where he was. If this were it, if this were the moment where Chanyeol would stand up and leave, he wouldn’t stop him.

“Do you kill only bad people?” Chanyeol’s voice was small, hopeful, and when Yifan didn’t answer, he chanced a glance up.

Yifan smiled sadly, and slowly shook his head. “No,” he breathed. “I kill good people, as well.”

Chanyeol dropped his gaze again and wrung his hands. “Do you… Do you mourn for those you kill?”

Yifan bit his lip. “No.”

When the human stayed silent, Yifan leaned forward on his elbows, putting the glass on the table before focusing his attention back on Chanyeol. “I mourned the first years after I turned. I grieved, and I loathed myself for what I had done to innocents.”

He sighed. “When you are turned, you cannot control how much you drink, and without someone to help you, it’s impossible to stop until the body is drained of every last drop. Learning when to stop takes time and willpower, and even then, it is not everyone who cares enough to try.”

Chanyeol had not run away yet, and Yifan dared hope that was a good thing. He cleared his throat, before continuing, “I did not learn until many years later, when I met one of my current friends, who agreed to help me if I helped him. With him I stayed for decades before moving on.”

Leaning back in the couch, he let out another sigh. “I try not to kill people when I drink from them, but, sometimes, they die anyway. I kill. That is who I am.”

Chanyeol still wasn’t looking at him, but his hands had stilled in his lap.

“Are you afraid of me?” Yifan asked softly. He wouldn’t have thought it would have hurt to ask, not after all these years, but he was wrong. It hurt, and it hurt a lot.

“No.”

Chanyeol seemed to have a knack for taking Yifan aback time and time again.

“No,” Chanyeol repeated a bit more firmly, looking up and meeting Yifan’s surprised eyes, “I am not afraid of you.” His lips pressed together, and he frowned at nothing in particular. “I… You’re not doing it because you enjoy killing. You… do it to survive. And I understand that, I think so, even if…”

He released a sudden mirthless laugh. “I… I might be a bit nervous, but I’m not scared. I believe you’re a good person.”

Looking up, he threw Yifan a slight smile before standing from the chair, coming around the table to crouch in front of Yifan, hands splaying on his thighs. Yifan gasped softly when the human met his eyes, gaze imploring, before closing them with a sigh and tilting his head to the side.

“I trust you,” he said.

“Wait,” Yifan coughed, reaching out to card his fingers through the younger’s hair. Something he had wanted to do since he first laid eyes on the other man. “Chanyeol, you –”

“I _trust_ you,” Chanyeol insisted, opening one eye to squint up at him. He held on tighter to Yifan, blunt nails digging into Yifan’s thighs, before he reached up to press a finger to his throat. “Bite me.”

“Are you su-”

“I want to know how it feels.” Chanyeol smiled up at him. “Come on. Don’t you want a taste?” He winked. “I bet I’m delicious.”

Yifan groaned through his teeth, hand reaching out to clasp one of Chanyeol’s, fingers lacing together. He leaned forward, closer to the other man, close enough to press his lips against Chanyeol’s throat.

“If you are sure.”

Chanyeol bared his throat further, a sigh escaping his lips as his eyes slipped closed once more.

“I am.”

o

Come evening, Yifan would leave to seek guidance from the one man he trusted the most about Chanyeol and his wish to be turned. It was a decision he had reached overnight, after he had spent a whole hour just watching Chanyeol’s chest rise and fall.

He couldn’t keep postponing it. Chanyeol deserved better than that, deserved better than being shot down time and time again without an actual _reason_. He deserved a firm answer, a _yes_ or a _no_. But Yifan couldn’t decide on this alone. He needed someone who knew what _forever_ entailed, someone who wasn’t Chanyeol. For as much as Yifan loved Chanyeol, Chanyeol was still a child compared to himself.

Chanyeol knew not what he was asking for, so Yifan couldn’t trust his judgment. But he could trust his friend’s.

“It is too early for you to frown like that.”

Yifan was shaken from his thoughts by Chanyeol’s words, whined into the pillow. Yifan’s frown deepened. “You are not even looking at me. Who are you to complain?”

Chanyeol lifted his head to throw Yifan a thoroughly unimpressed look, before planting his face on the pillow again. “There.”

Yifan snorted, shaking his head fondly as he folded his arms over his chest. “I am going to see someone tonight,” he said instead of replying to Chanyeol’s childishness.

This caught Chanyeol’s attention, his head coming back up. He blinked at Yifan. “Really? Who?”

“A friend of mine,” Yifan explained. “He lives far away, so it will be a few days until I am back. Can you behave until then?”

Chanyeol’s eyebrows knit together, lips coming together to form a pout. “You will really be gone that long?”

“It is only a few days,” said Yifan, voice taking on an amused note. “I’m thinking it will be five days. I will be back before you know it, Yeol.”

The human sighed, laying his cheek on the back of his hand. “May I never meet your friends?”

“One day, perhaps. There’s no rush.”

Chanyeol pursed his lips, pushing himself up with his arms to his knees. “For you, maybe,” was all he said, and Yifan didn’t want to have this argument right before he was due to leave to have this conversation with another.

“Don’t,” Yifan warned, unfazed by the slight glare Chanyeol threw him from the bed. It may have held more heat, had he not sat naked, pale white on obsidian black, hair mussed from sleep, eyes still droopy, even if alertness were returning to those brown orbs by the second.

“Yifan,” Chanyeol started, voice tinged with exasperation, but Yifan cut him off.

“No,” he said firmly, standing and moving around the table to sit on the bed. Chanyeol drew away from his touch, and Yifan let his hand drop back down on his lap. “I am leaving tonight, Chanyeol. Do you really wish to bring this up now?”

“Why must it be such a big deal?” Chanyeol asked. He crossed his legs, caring little about the fact that he was naked, and pinned Yifan with a frustrated look. “Do you not want me to stay with you? Forever? Do you not love me enough? Do you even love me?”

Yifan had so wished Chanyeol could have just let it go. _One_ day was all he asked for.

“Chanyeol,” he growled, “this is not about that.”

“Then what _is_ it about?” Chanyeol cried. “You refuse to tell me anything! What am I supposed to think, Yifan?”

“I _love_ you,” Yifan firmly promised. He shook his head, running his hand through his hair with a frustrated sigh. “I think that should have been clear by now. But this is about so much more than what you think, Chanyeol. Can you please just _trust_ me? I haven’t said no, nor have I said yes, but I need to think. I cannot make such a decision so hastily.”

“ _We_ ,” Chanyeol corrected, though the heat from his earlier words had diminished to a glowing ember. “I have a say in this, as well. Please remember that.”

“I know.” This time, when Yifan reached out for him, Chanyeol didn’t shy away; he let Yifan wind his arms around him and pull him close, breathing in his scent. It was like a balm, pulling Yifan back down from his bout of anger.

“Give me some time. That is all I ask,” he continued softly, pressing gentle kisses onto Chanyeol’s shoulder.

Chanyeol’s answer did not come immediately, but eventually, he leaned up to peck Yifan’s lips, before giving him a faint smile.

“Don’t take too long.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

Chanyeol sighed, leaning into Yifan’s arms and enjoying the comfort, Yifan’s hands lovingly trailing up and down his bare back in soothing caresses. And, perhaps, a bit more, going by the fire that had begun to burn in Chanyeol’s stomach.

He pressed his face into Yifan’s neck, smiling at the hitch in Yifan’s breath as he licked at his skin, before whispering, “When did you say you were leaving, again?”

Yifan needed not answer, and Chanyeol laughed as he was pushed back down on the mattress.

Though his laughter was soon replaced by moans.

~

The first time Chanyeol voiced an interest in the procedure of being turned, Yifan had not caught the real reason behind his curiosity, and wouldn’t know for at least half a year. But as it stood, Chanyeol had asked one night, after Yifan had brought him to orgasm and drunk from his wrist. Yifan had mostly done it for their pleasure, so Chanyeol wasn’t left with that bone-deep exhaustion that unfailingly would bring him into the arms of sleep in no time.

“How does someone become like you? A walker of the night?”

The question had visibly taken Yifan aback, his eyes widening just a fraction, but he had pondered it all the same. When he answered, his voice held that kind of softness it only did when they were in bed, and everything was peaceful, with their bodies still humming with pleasure. It was one of Chanyeol’s favourites, of all Yifan’s tones, meant for his ears only.

“Walkers are no longer human,” Yifan started, carding his fingers through Chanyeol’s hair. “And for that, your body must be changed. In our case, the human body must be drained of its blood. To put it bluntly, you are, essentially, killed, and then brought back by a night walker’s blood replacing your own. It is a painful process.”

“Does it take a specific kind of person to survive it?” Chanyeol wanted to know. Yifan hesitated with his answer.

“In a way, it does, though only few do not survive the turning. A young night walker’s chances of successfully turning a human are less than if an elder did it. It is mostly a question of knowledge and experience.”

“So anyone could turn a human?” mused Chanyeol. “You, as well?”

Yifan gave a slight nod. “Correct.”

“Then, have you ever turned someone? You have been around for a long time, after all.”

“I have never turned anyone,” Yifan said.

Chanyeol frowned, eyeing Yifan’s hand drawing patterns onto his arm. He reached out to grab it, playing with his fingers as he said, “That must have been lonely.”

“Sometimes,” Yifan admitted, gathering Chanyeol’s hand in his and squeezing gently. “Forever is dull if you have no one to spend it with.”

“You have friends amongst the walkers of the night, though, haven’t you?”

“I do.” A small smile tugged at the corners of Yifan’s lips. “And without them, forever would have been too long.”

o

The pure blood greeted him in person at the door, chatting all the way through the walk down the hallway before leading him into a more private chamber for their talk. There he gestured at a plush chair for Yifan to sit down as he seated himself in the sofa in front of him.

The older looked much the same as he had last time Yifan saw him, though that was only to be expected. He had been turned at a physical age that was less than Yifan’s, features frozen in youth, but his age as a walker of the night far surpassed Yifan’s. Even if he looked younger, he had far more experience with these things, and had lived long enough to be considered among the ranks of elders. Thus, Yifan went to him for advice.

“I don’t know what to do,” he sighed when he was settled in the chair with an already halfway emptied glass of red wine in his hand. The third man in the room made quick work of refilling his glass before busying himself with something else.

A slow smile appeared on the elder’s features, along with a dimple. “Ah,” he hummed. “This is about Chanyeol.”

With his short stature, narrow hips, and an overall slim built, Zhang Yixing easily fooled people into letting their guard down around him. While he didn’t look particularly strong, Yifan knew not to underestimate him; if it ever came to a fight between them, Yixing would have him on his back in a matter of seconds, no matter how well Yifan fought. His auburn hair was for the occasion gathered in a ponytail at the top of his head, the locks just long enough to reach his neck, and his brown eyes, currently swimming with mirth, held an intelligent depth. Yifan had often found himself averting his gaze, if only because it were so perceptive, as though the older were taking him apart piece by piece like a puzzle. It left Yifan feeling entirely too vulnerable, with all his secrets, his soul, spread out for Yixing to see.

Yixing was an old friend of Yifan’s, and someone he highly appreciated and respected; never would he wish to be an enemy of Yixing’s, because Yixing tended to be exceptionally cruel to those who wronged him.

“Chanyeol has voiced an interest in being turned on numerous occasions, by now,” murmured Yifan, watching the liquid sloshing in his glass.

“But you are afraid he does not know what he is getting into,” Yixing hummed, and at Yifan’s slight nod, he heaved a sigh and leaned back, one leg falling over the other as his gaze shifted to something behind Yifan. “Has it ever occurred to you that he may simply, for some unfathomable reason, wish for eternity with you?”

“He is too young,” Yifan immediately argued, pointedly ignoring the elder’s teasing. “He doesn’t _know._ He is not even twenty-five, and yet he thinks he is ready to say farewell to his life. His _life_. He hasn’t even lived half of it.” He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, worrying it as he counted all the reasons for why he shouldn’t abide Chanyeol’s wish and turn him. “When I was turned, I didn’t have a _choice_ , and I… I don’t know if I can be the one to take Chanyeol’s life from him.”

Yifan paused to drink a mouthful of wine, brows furrowing, before continuing, “Forever is, to be cliché, a very, _very_ long time. I have never sired a walker of the night, but I know of the bond, and of the obedience from childes towards their sires. Would it change his love, or mine, to make him my childe? He could wake up one evening and realise his life is over, and realise I am the one who has this bond with him. What if he regrets it? Regrets the path he has chosen? What if he regrets _me_?”

“What if _you_ are the one who will regret his choices?” Yixing mused, and Yifan blinked up at him, even if the older still weren’t looking at him. “Chanyeol is young. But he won’t stay young forever. He is constantly changing, aging, Yifan. You can either turn him and love him, or watch him surpass you in age and die.”

Yifan groaned and ran a hand through his hair, mindless of the locks now sticking out at odd angles. “But if that’s the best decision? To let him go?”

One of Yixing’s perfectly shaped eyebrows arched, smile slipping from his face. “Who broke your heart?”

At Yifan’s scowl, Yixing held up his hands in a pacifying gesture. “You cannot fault me for assuming that.” His nose scrunched up, and it would have looked adorable, if only Yifan didn’t know that the other was anything but. “Though, as your friend, I am disappointed I had not known of this.”

“ _Yixing_ ,” Yifan groaned. “We are not here to discuss what you know and do not know about me. We are here to discuss Chanyeol and his insisting I turn him.”

“Ah,” Yixing piped, holding up a finger, “but this very much concerns Chanyeol. You cannot let your doubts stop you. Have a little faith in him. I think he understands more than you give him credit for.”

“What if it kills him? What if _I_ kill him?”

“You won’t,” Yixing was quick to state, eyes snapping back to Yifan to pin him with a firm look.

“You cannot be sure of that,” Yifan persisted. “And if he dies, I will have his blood on my hands. And should he live… There are others ways to die than physically. What would forever be worth to him, if he loses himself in the process?”

Amongst the several fears feeding off Yifan’s mind and heart like a leech, that one was one of the greatest. Chanyeol was something special, precious, and his passion must be preserved. But what if the turning made him a cynic? It would crush Yifan, to see the life vanish from everything Chanyeol did.

“As a newly turned, _not_ killing is unavoidable, and Chanyeol cares so much for the living that it hurts. What if he cannot handle killing others? He could drive himself into bloodlust and madness, and he could decide there was one way only to get away, and that is to cease existing.”

“You worry too much, Yifan,” Yixing said softly.

“I _have_ to worry when he doesn’t,” Yifan insisted, before he let out a slow breath.

Bringing back up one of the main arguments, he said, “He is _too young_. I cannot bear the thought of taking his life, should he end up regretting it later. He is life personified. How can I take it away?”

Yixing’s head tilted, gaze fixed on the man behind Yifan. Something else slid into his eyes, and Yifan thought he knew what it was, though Yixing rarely let anyone read him, so he couldn’t be sure.

“Junmyeon is different, much like you,” he eventually said after a pause, voice gentle, carrying a warmth Yifan shouldn’t be surprised to detect. “He fears the same things you do. If having me turn him would be the right decision.”

Yixing sat up straighter, a short laugh escaping him. “He doubts, even now, after five years, that my love won’t be forever. He doubts his own love for me. He is worried he will regret leaving behind those he loves.”

Yifan remained quiet, and he could sense the man behind him had stilled, not speaking a word.

Lifting his hand, Yixing crooked his finger. “Junmyeon,” he sighed, “come here.”

The human went around Yifan’s chair to stand in front of Yixing, a brow raised in enquiry. “My lord?”

Yixing looked thoroughly unimpressed.

Yifan knew about Kim Junmyeon, the human Yixing had fallen in love with. With a slightly broader built than Yixing, though still slender, almost black hair and dark brown eyes, the man possessed a certain appeal that would take a blind man to deny. Additionally, as a walker of the night, Yifan was very aware of the younger’s scent (Yixing had been very strict when Yifan had first met Junmyeon, warning him that drinking a single drop of blood from the human would result in pain. Yifan had understood, and he had slowly grown less affected by the scent of Junmyeon’s blood over time, especially now that he had Chanyeol), a temptation to all night walkers out there.

Unfortunately, Junmyeon had also come to realise that fairly quickly. Yifan didn’t know to what extent other night walkers had hurt Junmyeon (Yixing respected Junmyeon’s wish for privacy), but he did know that the human had had some rather unpleasant encounters with their kin in the past, even as he had tried to stay out of their reach.

Yixing had been in the area when Junmyeon had been cornered by a pair of night walkers, all of them drawn to the sweet scent of his blood, and appeared on the scene in time to stop his kin from draining the, by then unconscious, human completely of life.

Knowing the pure blood, the two night walkers had been dead before they hit the ground. Furthermore, Yifan highly doubted Yixing had kept Junmyeon around after the incident out of love, but rather for his blood, because as much as Yifan enjoyed his friend's company, Yixing was not that noble. But over time, their relationship had grown to something more than saviour and grateful if slightly reluctant human.

“Drop the act and come sit,” Yixing ordered, though he gave Junmyeon little choice by grasping his wrist and dragging him down on his lap.

“But I’m running out of wine,” Yifan murmured, amused by the sight in front of him; even more so when Junmyeon immediately went to leave his comfy seat on Yixing’s lap to no doubt pour Yifan more wine. Yixing wouldn’t let him, though, keeping a firm hold on him even as Junmyeon squirmed.

“Get it yourself,” Yixing sniffed, laying his chin on Junmyeon’s shoulder and sending a mock glare in Yifan’s direction. “Jun is not your servant; he is mine.”

Yifan chuckled as he stood from the chair, taking his glass and moving around the sofa to get the wine. “Indeed,” he said softly, opening the bottle to pour the wine into his glass. “Would you like more, Yixing? And how about you, Junmyeon?”

“Jun would very much like some wine, yes,” came the answer from Yixing. “And if you would be so kind as to fill my glass, I would be eternally grateful.”

Humming in reply, Yifan reached for a clean glass and poured. Walking back to his seat, he placed Junmyeon’s glass in front of him and refilled Yixing’s, not without raising an eyebrow at Junmyeon’s flushed face and Yixing’s smug smirk. Deciding it was best not to ask, though, Yifan quietly sat back in the chair and put the bottle on the table between them.

“About Chanyeol,” Yixing continued, after a few minutes of mindless chatter, and once Junmyeon had settled on his lap.

“He has made his choice,” Junmyeon interrupted, fiddling with the glass in his hands, though his attention and eyes were on Yifan. Yifan was quickly coming to learn that Junmyeon’s gaze was almost as calculating as Yixing’s. “Do not underestimate him. If he requests that you turn him, do not refuse him on the grounds that you listed earlier. Those are but sore excuses, and you being uncertain. He may be young, but I refuse to believe he is stupid. He is fully capable of making his own decisions, and dealing with the consequences.”

Yifan blinked, slightly taken aback. Junmyeon rarely spoke around him, much less this much. But what he said did hold some truth. Yifan wasn’t above admitting that. It did little to soothe his heart and mind, however, because above all else, he wished only the best for Chanyeol. But forever was not necessarily the best, despite all of the stories and songs, and neither was Yifan.

“Junmyeon is right,” Yixing hummed, absently carding his fingers through Junmyeon’s hair as he spoke. “This is becoming less about Chanyeol, and more about you. You have eternity to choose, but Chanyeol has not. Do not let this become the rift between you. Chanyeol is trying to tell you he trusts you and wants to give it a try. You should trust him back. And if, in the end, it does not work out, it’s not the end of the world. Do not let _what ifs_ get in the way of your happiness, Yifan.”

With a sigh, Yifan sipped at the wine, tasting the sweetness on his tongue and savouring it. It was nothing compared to Chanyeol’s blood, but it would do for now.

“I know,” he said, eventually. “I know. But it is not easy.”

“Nothing is ever easy,” murmured Yixing.

Yifan’s smile held a note of self-deprecation. “No. Nothing ever is.”

~

“Why were you turned?”

It was a question Chanyeol had long pondered. Yifan was a tight-lipped person when it came to his past, so Chanyeol found himself knowing very little about the other, which, into the fourth month of their relationship, was starting to bother him.

It wasn’t that he needed to know every little detail there was to know about Yifan. Not at all. But he sometimes felt so young, naïve, next to Yifan. Yifan treated him like a child sometimes, and Chanyeol hated it with every fibre of his being. It felt like the older didn’t trust Chanyeol with everything, and _this_ was the real problem. Yifan could keep as many secrets as he so wished, within a reasonable limit, if only Chanyeol knew it wasn’t because he didn’t trust him with them. It kind of hurt.

Chanyeol wasn’t left completely in the dark, however. He knew that Yifan was no pure blood, as those with enhanced abilities were called, carrying over affinities from their human lives. Highly respected members of the night walkers’ society, the pure bloods were of blue blood status. They were rare, old ones even more so. And as highly as Chanyeol thought of Yifan, he did not have any abilities outside of those walkers were expected to have.

Yifan did not belong to the line of elders, either. Eras old night walkers, who were only slightly less rare than pure bloods, and for that also highly respected, they essentially made up the _nobles_ in their society.

Yifan had gone quiet, so Chanyeol stood from his chair, on which he had sat and watched Yifan as he walked from one bookshelf to another, obviously searching for a specific book if the way he kept skimming through the pages before putting it back were any indication. Approaching the older, who stood with an open book in his hands, Chanyeol wound his arms around his waist – he had tensed, Chanyeol noted – and rested his chin on his shoulder, huffing out a breath.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he murmured, pressing his lips to the skin just under his jaw. “I was just… I know very little, is all, and I –”

“No,” Yifan sighed, some of the tension ebbing away as he closed the book and put it back on the shelf. He covered Chanyeol’s hands with his own, only a touch colder than Chanyeol’s. It hadn’t been long since Chanyeol had bared his throat for him, so the blood would still be rushing through his body, raising his temperature to almost human.

“No?”

“No,” Yifan continued, “you are right. It is long overdue, and for that, I apologise. It is about time I told you.”

“Is it bad?” Chanyeol whispered, instinctively holding Yifan closer. It drew a laugh from the night walker.

“It is not a joyous tale,” he admitted, “but I have long come to terms with it. Do not worry.” He pulled back from Chanyeol’s embrace, though he kept a hold on one of his hands and turned around to face him. There was a short smile pulling at the corner of his lips as he said, “Come. The library is such a dull place for such recounts, so let us relocate to the living room.”

Once seated on the couch, with Chanyeol’s lying between Yifan’s legs, back to chest, Chanyeol found himself nursing his own wine glass as Yifan finally revealed the very thing that had been on Chanyeol’s mind for weeks.

“I wasn’t very old when my parents struck a deal with some lord in exchange for crops. It had seemed very simple, then, nothing that could get as out of hand as it did. But months before my twenty-fourth birthday, something went wrong, and my parents were blamed and fled with me. The noble, however, was not one to forgive such a _blatant_ act of treachery.”

Chanyeol felt Yifan’s chest heave under him, and he took his bottom lip between his teeth, worrying it as he listened. He figured this tale wouldn’t end well.

“We managed to stay out of the noble’s sight for almost half a year, but then he found us,” said Yifan softly. “On the noble’s orders, his men wrenched me from my distraught parents. For running away, the lord declared, they would be punished. But to get the point across, he would make an example of _me_. This would make them understand the severity of their actions, or so the noble said.”

Yifan blew out another breath, arm snaking around Chanyeol’s middle and grabbing his hand, lacing their fingers together. He continued, not appearing fazed with the way Chanyeol squeezed his hand upon hearing his next words.

“They locked us up in a cell each, and here the noble had me tortured. They were forced to witness every whip, every slap, every slash, hear every scream and every plea, but were otherwise kept out of reach. I was tortured for hours straight, for a week, with the only break being at dawn, where my parents could only soothe me with words and apologies.”

“Yifan,” Chanyeol whispered, but Yifan continued, either spurred by finally telling someone after what Chanyeol suspected were years, or because he simply didn’t hear him, too lost in the memory of the event.

“Everything hurt by the end of the week, and I had ceased fighting two days into the torture sessions. All I wanted was for it to stop, for everything to stop _hurting_. On the last night, I had taken to beg for death. My parents had stopped trying to comfort me at night. They remained as close as possible, but they were quiet.

“If I had known what would happen then, I probably would have fought harder than I did,” Yifan confessed quietly. “If I had known that they would doom me to eternal death, I would have fought harder to escape that fate.”

The wine in Chanyeol’s glass remained untouched, and his gaze, though focused on the liquid, was glazed over, trying to imagine what horrors Yifan had been subjected to; he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. It had his chest clenching.

“On the eighth night, the noble came to me in my cell. I was too tired to move, so it was without a fight that I allowed his men to seize me, allowed them to force me on my knees in front of him. I was too disoriented, too caught up in the pain, to hear what he told my parents. But when he grabbed my hair, forced my head up, I saw their paled faces, saw the horror in their expressions, and I heard their screams of mercy. And then I felt his teeth sink into my neck.”

Yifan released a slow breath. His voice held little emotion, tone almost matter-of-factly, and it _hurt._ It may not cause Yifan as much pain as it had caused him then, and Chanyeol understood that it had happened long ago, but he still, on Yifan’s behalf, couldn’t come to terms with it.

“That night, I was murdered,” Yifan continued. “That night, my parents witnessed their son die by the hands of a man they had trusted, if years ago. On the ninth night, after witnessing the agony of my turning, my parents were released, as I was later told. The noble abandoned them somewhere, and I never saw them again. Not alive.”

Chanyeol didn’t like the way that was worded, and when he twisted a bit to look at Yifan, he saw a bitter smile on the elder’s handsome face.

“I found their graves, seventeen years later.”

Chanyeol tightened his hold on Yifan’s hand, and he saw as Yifan’s eyes slipped closed. He felt Yifan squeeze back, before he opened his mouth to continue.

“The lord kept me around for nine years. He taught me about the night society, about what I had become. A walker of the night. He let me feed on those who had wronged him or otherwise deserved a warning. He did not bother with teaching me control, so those years, I took more lives than I have in five decades.

“I was his servant more than anything, his plaything when he so pleased.”

“Did you kill him?” Chanyeol couldn’t help but ask. He didn’t commend murder, far from it, but after everything this _noble_ had done, he would almost break out in joyous whoops if the man were long turned to ash.

“No,” Yifan murmured, “I didn’t, couldn’t. As must as I abhor him, I am still his childe, and he is still my sire. Instead, when I had attained enough strength and knowledge, as well as confidence, I fled. I never saw him again.”

“What happened then?” Chanyeol broached in a whisper, watching a frown fall over Yifan’s face.

“I hid for a year, one I do not enjoy recalling, until my friend found me. He taught me control, and I stayed with him for almost a century.”

“Oh,” Chanyeol breathed, and Yifan’s chest reverberated with his quiet laughter.

“Oh,” he echoed, reaching up to run his thumb over Chanyeol’s lips. “That is my past, the reason I became a walker of the night.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Yifan hummed, pulling Chanyeol closer and resting his cheek on his shoulder. “You have no reason to be sorry.”

“Still,” Chanyeol mumbled. “It hurts to know what you’ve been through. Knowing that, had you had the choice…”

“I wouldn’t be here now,” Yifan finished when Chanyeol trailed off. “But I am, and I met you, and that is something I will never regret.”

Chanyeol huffed, though his smile was threatening to tear his face apart. “It seems you’re getting sappy in your old age.”

“Respect your elders,” Yifan admonished, though the words carried no heat. Only fondness.

Chanyeol made himself comfortable in Yifan’s embrace, for the first time that night sipping some of the wine. Bitter, but with the note of something sweet.

“Do you mind telling me more? From your young childhood? Good memories.”

Yifan hummed, chuckling under his breath as he caressed Chanyeol’s hand. “Good memories, you say…”

Chanyeol listened with rapt attention as Yifan told him of times long gone, but it was Yifan’s fond smiles as he remembered his parents, friends, that made everything worth it.

o

Yifan’s mind was out of order on his journey back home, but as always, Chanyeol had a way of sorting through even the most tangled of thoughts. Before he even got through the door, Chanyeol was there, running his hands over his chest, pushing his face into the juncture of Yifan’s neck and shoulder like Yifan had done to him so many times before. And even with his thoughts, Yifan responded willing, reaching for him just the same.

“I missed you,” Chanyeol breathed into his skin, long fingers sliding under Yifan’s robes to drag them off his shoulders, down his arms, until they slipped fully off his form and fell around his feet. He worked at the strings holding the pants up as he littered Yifan’s neck in small desperate kisses, and Yifan sighed into the sensation, let the tremor roll through his frame at the touch.

Yifan was no stranger to this level of affection, standing still whilst Chanyeol worked to uncover his body. Chanyeol, as eager as he was to please, would do this from time to time. And the way his lover’s fingers moved with purpose told him that Chanyeol was ready to please him in whatever way he could.

He raised his hand to Chanyeol’s neck, massaging the nape with his fingers before coaxing the other to raise his head. When Chanyeol looked up, eyes a shade darker than their normal colour, Yifan leaned in to press his lips against the other’s.

“I missed you, as well,” Yifan hummed into the kiss, and he didn’t have to look to know Chanyeol had smiled at the confession, feeling the curl of his mouth against his own.

He pulled back to meet Yifan’s gaze briefly, his hands finally ridding Yifan of his pants, and his lover gave him another firm kiss before pushing him back gently, until Yifan’s back was pressed against the door.

“Let me show you how much you were missed,” Chanyeol said in a low voice, and while the words were authoritative, the tone was still pleading, just this side of a request that did horrible things to Yifan’s knees.

It always surprised Yifan just how easily Chanyeol knew what he needed. He was able to pick up subtleties in his mood that no one, save Yixing, had ever really noticed. But Chanyeol could look at him and _know_ his mindset without a word said between them. And just like previous times, Chanyeol knew what Yifan needed before Yifan knew himself.

And yet he still asked, as though Yifan would ever turn him away. Chanyeol was watching Yifan with an imploring look, hands still traveling along his sides in his hesitation, as if even when he were questioning what Yifan would allow, he couldn’t keep himself completely controlled. He still had to _touch_.

And at the moment, that touch was all Yifan really needed.

He gave the slightest of nods, and Chanyeol sank to his knees.

As the other’s touches moved from hesitation to _purpose_ down his back _,_ Yifan let his head fall back against the door, eyes sliding closed. He should be trying to make a decision. He should be finding a solution to this crossroads with Chanyeol he found himself in.

But right now, he’d rather give his thoughts to distraction.

o

Usually, Yixing gave word in advance when he planned on paying a visit, which was a rare occurrence in itself. So, that night, Yifan had not expected to see Yixing on his doorstep.

But what surprised him the most was Junmyeon’s presence, halfway hidden behind the pure blood.

“This is an urgent matter, one I figured you would want to be told of as fast as possible,” Yixing revealed once he caught the questioning look on Yifan’s face. “Are you going to let us in?”

It had been almost three months since he had been to his friend’s place seeking advice, and while he had gotten it, he hadn’t acted on it. To make matters more worrisome, Chanyeol had started hinting again, subtly, but in a way that was impossible to miss. But he hadn't spoken to Chanyeol on his decision, mainly because he still didn't have one to give. And as patient as Chanyeol was, the man had his limits.

Yifan stepped back to let the duo pass, glancing over his shoulder at Chanyeol, who opted to stare wide-eyed at the newcomers, not bothering to conceal his fascination and excitement at the prospect of finally meeting another walker of the night. The sole thing that gave away his apprehension was the way he was fiddling with his sleeves.

Yixing lit up in a dimpled smile at the sight of Chanyeol, greeting him with an, “Ah, I assume you must be Park Chanyeol?” For Yifan, it did not go unnoticed when Yixing placed his palm on the small of Junmyeon’s back, as though to ground him. A warning.

And Yifan had understood why the moment he saw Junmyeon.

“I am Zhang Yixing,” Yixing introduced himself to an eager Chanyeol, “Yifan’s best friend of centuries. And this here,” he gestured at Junmyeon with a nod, “is Kim Junmyeon.”

“Your childe,” Yifan said quietly, gaining everyone’s attention with that statement. Yixing turned to look at him, a smile still playing on his lips.

“My childe,” he echoed. “Which is why I have come to see you, unannounced.”

Yifan took a step closer to Chanyeol, who was watching Junmyeon curiously, and narrowed his eyes at Yixing. “Are you certain that was a wise decision? Bringing him here?”

Yixing’s eyes flashed dangerously. He tilted his head, and hummed. “Are you insinuating that I cannot control my childe, Yifan? Do you doubt me?”

His words were velvety, and though Yifan thought he had every right to be uneasy at the presence of a newly turned around Chanyeol, a human, he lowered his eyes. “I apologise.”

Yixing straightened, pinning Yifan with a stern stare. “Junmyeon will not near Chanyeol without our, and Chanyeol’s, consent. It would have been reckless of me to bring Junmyeon here without having made sure his thirst was quenched, so he drank on the way here. You have my word that he will not harm Chanyeol.”

“Alright,” Yifan breathed, shoulders sagging with the assurance.

“Ah, but, wait,” Chanyeol butted in, “Junmyeon can drink from me, if he wishes. I won’t mind.”

“Oh?” Yixing chuckled with a surprised smile, glancing at Junmyeon, whose eyes were glowing bright copper, a natural reaction for newly-turned at the talk of blood and drinking. “Would you like that, Jun?”

Junmyeon pressed his lips together, eyeing Chanyeol without giving away his thoughts. Yifan clenched his jaw, and he lifted his gaze to meet Yixing’s amused eyes over Chanyeol’s shoulder. Chanyeol stepped forward, only for Junmyeon to step back, and Chanyeol let out a nervous laugh.

“Where do you prefer to drink from?” Chanyeol enquired, this time approaching Junmyeon tentatively, as though their roles were turned around. As though Chanyeol were the predator, and Junmyeon his prey. “Neck? Wrist?” He paused, nose scrunching up. “Thigh?”

It startled a laugh from Yixing, and a flush from Junmyeon, and a gawp from Yifan. Chanyeol merely blinked. “Did I say something wrong?”

“There is _no way_ he is drinking from your _thigh_ ,” Yifan growled, half-heartedly smacking Chanyeol upside his head. “You bumbling _idiot_.”

“Neck,” Junmyeon spoke quietly, hiding his face in his hands. “I prefer the neck.”

Yixing hummed, a smile sliding over his expression. “Ah, I beg to differ.” He tilted his head, watching Junmyeon with a glint in his eyes. “I let you drink from my thigh just the night before we left.”

Yifan snorted, caressing the back of Chanyeol’s head as he shot Yixing an unimpressed look. “If my lover is really going to let your childe have a taste of his blood, it will not be here in the entryway. We will relocate to the living room, and here we can bring back up this matter.”

Yixing inclined his head at Yifan, doing very little effort at hiding his amused smile. “Lead the way, old friend.”

Once they were seated in one of the rooms meant for smaller gatherings instead of just Yifan and Chanyeol, Yifan cleared his throat.

“Well, then,” he voiced, watching Junmyeon closely as he threw out his hand in Chanyeol’s direction. “Go ahead. Have a taste.”

Junmyeon glanced at Yixing, who tilted his head in a slight nod, before he stood from his seat and moved to sit beside Chanyeol. “Just a taste,” he murmured, as Chanyeol bared his throat for him. He lifted his hand to gently stroke a few fingers over the skin, his eyes once more the colour of bright copper, glowing in the dim room.

Yifan watched intently as Junmyeon leaned down, fangs out and ready to pierce. He drew mindless patterns onto Chanyeol’s hand as Junmyeon bit into his skin, eyes flashing crimson the moment the richness of Chanyeol’s blood hit his tongue.

Yifan counted ten seconds until Yixing’s voice rang through the room. “Junmyeon. Enough.”

True to his word, Junmyeon released Chanyeol (he had brought his hand up to the other side of Chanyeol’s neck) and sat back. Whilst Yifan usually breathed around Chanyeol, it didn’t seem like Junmyeon had gotten used to not needing to breathe, chest heaving with each inhale he sucked in. Yixing stood from his seat and was by Junmyeon’s side in a flash, crouching in front of him. He reached out to brush stray drops of blood away from Junmyeon’s lips, catching them on his fingers instead. His tongue, after a moment’s thought, darted out to lick up the spills, and he hummed to himself at the taste.

Chanyeol’s eyes, more hazy than normally, which was only to be expected after being drank from (initial sting aside, it did ignite a fire in your soul to be bitten, though the intensity depended on how much and for how long someone drank), were on Yixing. Yifan hoped his caresses would help ground Chanyeol, and they did, Chanyeol’s eyes growing clearer by the second, until he was watching Yixing with fascination. Yifan, suspecting where this was going, should have let him stay in his haze.

“You can taste, too,” Chanyeol offered, smiling sheepishly. Yixing raised an eyebrow at him, before his gaze moved to Yifan. Yifan shrugged in helplessness, as though to say, _What can I do?_ Yixing was back to being amused.

“Ah,” Yixing said, moving closer to Chanyeol, who watched him with wide eyes. “You know,” he murmured, reaching out to poke Chanyeol between the eyes, “giving yourself up to walkers of the night like this is inconsiderate.”

Chanyeol blinked, confused. “What? Why is that so?”

Yixing sat back and looked behind him, nodding at a scowling Yifan. “You belong to this poor guy. While there may have been rare cases of acceptance in our past, nowadays it is forbidden to drink from other night walkers' humans without consent. Ah,” he held up a finger when Chanyeol made to argue, “I know. You gave us permission, and Yifan is not stepping in, which makes this perfectly fair. But it is still very much a taboo in our culture. It's like humans kissing another's lover, in a sense. It is an _intimate_ gesture. And walkers of the night are known for being very possessive creatures.”

He let his hand run along Junmyeon's shoulder as he spoke, “I am not deriding Yifan's decision to allow you to do this, but if it had been Jun baring his throat to other night walkers, even to my friends, I would have refused it.” He smirked a bit at the shudder that ran through Junmyeon as he brushed his fingers along the hollow between Junmyeon's collarbones, but he kept his eyes on Chanyeol. “You see, Junmyeon belongs to me, and me alone, and only _I_ am allowed to drink from him.”

“Oh,” Chanyeol muttered, glancing back at Yifan. “Are you mad?”

Yifan sighed, shaking his head. “I am not. But Yixing is right in what he says. It won’t do for you to offer your blood to everyone who comes to visit, you know.” His lips quirked in a smirk. “But Yixing is a jealous man, whereas I am more lenient. So, go ahead. Let Yixing have a taste, if he so pleases. I do not mind.”

Yixing snorted. “In due time, Yifan. Just wait.”

As Junmyeon moved to sit on the other couch, perhaps because four people became one too many on one couch, Yixing made himself comfortable on his knees next to Chanyeol, who once again tilted his head to give the pure blood access to his neck. Yixing dipped down to lick away the already drying drops of spare blood from Junmyeon’s bite, before he sank his fangs into the two punctures Junmyeon had left behind.

Yifan chanced a glance in Junmyeon’s direction, noting, with interest, his balled fists in his lap as he watched his lover drink from another. It seemed Junmyeon had that same streak of possessiveness that Yixing had, as well. How curious, Yifan mused, before he turned back his attention to his own lover.

He counted another ten seconds, and then Yixing drew away from Chanyeol, licking his lips with a satisfied look in his eyes. “Sweet.” He grinned at Yifan, before he walked around the table to lower himself into Junmyeon’s lap. He bent down to cover Junmyeon’s lips with his own, drawing a soft noise from the newly turned night walker, whose hands reached up to support Yixing’s hips.

Yifan rolled his eyes at the two, opting to focus on Chanyeol for now, who was starting to look sleepy. Some people got more tired than others after being drank from, and Chanyeol was one of those. Yifan smiled fondly and reached out to card his fingers through his lover’s hair, gently tugging him closer to lie against his chest.

“You can rest,” he hummed, patting Chanyeol’s cheek. Chanyeol yawned, muttering something about being _not tired_ , though his eyes were already drooping.

“Ah, good,” Yixing murmured, and Yifan glanced up from Chanyeol’s face to find Yixing now sitting by Junmyeon’s side, like a regular guest in someone’s house. He couldn’t quite keep his hands off Junmyeon, fingers stroking the other’s neck absentmindedly, but as long as they didn’t make out on his couch, Yifan didn’t mind.

“I came here to discuss Chanyeol with you,” Yixing said, and Yifan nodded to make him continue, gently carding his fingers through Chanyeol’s hair. The younger was asleep, which was fortunate. He didn’t want Chanyeol to be awake for this conversation. “I thought you might like to know that Junmyeon was turned a week ago. He asked me himself, and I abided his wish.”

He raised a pointed brow at Yifan. “Junmyeon, to my knowledge, is happy. _I_ am happy. So I want you, Yifan, to sit down and think about what you are going to do. Chanyeol has been showing interest in being turned for the better part of half a year, now, and I think it is time you show him some trust. He is an adult, capable of making his own decisions. This is for your happiness, as well as Chanyeol’s.”

Yifan looked down at Chanyeol’s sleeping face, tracing the contours with his eyes. “But what if he regrets?” he whispered, brushing Chanyeol’s bottom lip with his thumb. “What if he dies?”

“He will survive,” Yixing said firmly, “and if there are regrets, those bridges should be crossed then, not now. Do not let doubts keep you from happiness.”

“Let him make his own decisions,” Junmyeon said softly, “and time will show if they were the right ones.”

Yifan met Yixing’s gaze over the table, firm and confident. “Stop running, Yifan. Stop hesitating. Do not let your happiness die.”

Yifan looked away, not missing the meaning of the words. He didn’t have to clarify for Yifan to know _happiness_ was more than just the emotion.

Chanyeol would, without a doubt, die, because death was the sole thing in this world that was certain, even as an alleged immortal. Maybe not now, maybe not in another ten years, or fifty, but he would die, and Yifan would again be left to suffer through eternity alone.

Yifan did not want Chanyeol to die.

But nor did he want Chanyeol to live like him, with regrets and a past shrouded in dark thoughts and loathing. He just wanted Chanyeol to be happy.

And while he was happy with Yifan now, Yifan wondered if happiness were as eternal as this choice would be.

~

Chanyeol had woken by dawn, but had decided against leaving the warmth of the bed and Yifan’s embrace, instead lying on his side and tracing the contours of Yifan’s face with his fingers, being careful so as to not wake the other from his slumber.

Never would Chanyeol tire of watching Yifan, especially not as he slept. In sleep, his lover’s face held a softness to it that wasn’t there in his alert hours. In sleep, his face wasn’t marred by his past or thoughts. It was peaceful and without frowns, and Chanyeol adored it.

It sometimes overwhelmed him, at times like this, the awareness of how much he had come to love this man. The townsfolk called him a ghost, something to be feared, despised, and Chanyeol had never understood why. Rumours were but rumours; who were they to whisper about a man they had never laid eyes on? Never would they come to understand Yifan, would never have the wish to, and for that, Chanyeol grieved.

They would never get to know the man in the mansion, would never lay ears to his rumbling laughter, his fantastical stories of times long passed. They would never get to know him, or his heart.

Chanyeol cherished the day he met Yifan, when he had stayed in the garden until shadows started sneaking over the flowers, so lost in his work that he had not sensed the setting sun. And when he had finally looked up, he had seen the man on the doorstep, watching him with interest.

Chanyeol had felt no fear, then. He never had.

So consumed by his emotions as he was, the moment Yifan’s eyes blinked open, he said the first thing on his mind.

“I love you.”

It felt so simple, yet so significant, to finally let go of those words that had wanted to pass his lips for days, weeks, months. He knew Yifan loved him, from his caresses and sweet whispers in the dead of night, from the way he listened when Chanyeol had something on his heart, from the way he comforted Chanyeol when he cried.

And yet this was the first time he had said it aloud. He felt like a heavy weight had been taken from his shoulders, and he smiled brightly at Yifan, who was looking at him with a gentle smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“I love you, as well. More than words can ever say.”

o

The windows were covered by dark red draperies, shrouding the room in darkness only broken by the candles hanging on the walls and standing on the table. Yifan was seated in a plush chair with a glass of wine in his hand, one leg slung over the other, eyes never leaving the door.

The days after Yixing and Junmyeon’s visit had been loaded with something intangible. Yifan had spent more time brooding at his worktable than with Chanyeol, and Chanyeol would have been a fool not to notice. But where he would have usually tried to get Yifan to speak, he had not said a word this time, possibly sensing that this was a matter Yifan had to ponder without interruption.

It didn’t keep him from paying his regular visits, dropping in around night time and leaving again sometimes as late as afternoon. He bided his time by reading, sleeping, or exploring the mansion for hidden gems and chambers, once in a while checking up on Yifan, deeming if it were alright for him to approach the other and coax him out of his thoughts for snuggling, sex, or just talking. Sometimes he only wanted Yifan to lie with him as he fell asleep, and Yifan could never deny his lover that.

He took his time just watching Chanyeol as he went about doing his things, allowed his love for the other man to pull him underwater. Love, happiness, both were fleeting, but only if you didn’t fight for them. It did no good to let it pass by, and Yifan had seen enough things fall away in his lifetime to fear it would happen to Chanyeol. However, this time he didn’t _want_ to let it go. He didn’t want Chanyeol to be something else he lost to time because he was too afraid to hold it close. Chanyeol was Yifan’s love, Yifan’s happiness, and though he had him now, Chanyeol was still human, and he would lose him if he chose to stand by the wayside.

If Yifan didn’t fight, everything that he wanted in his forever would fade away into nothing, taken by the wind like dandelion seeds, and he would be left with a void in his whole being that would never be filled. He would only have himself to blame.

So, one evening, a few nights prior, he had asked his lover, “What is forever to you?”

Chanyeol had thought long and hard, understanding that this was no small matter, no jest, and replied, “Forever is in your mind. Mortal or immortal, if you believe you love someone forever, you will. Forever goes beyond time.”

Swirling the wine glass in his hand, Yifan eyed the sloshing liquid. Crimson, like Chanyeol’s blood, sweet, addicting. Chanyeol’s blood was the sweetest of nectars, one he would never tire of, and one wine could never compare to.

Glass clinking against the wood as he sat it on the table, his gaze lifted from the wine to the door as it creaked open. Chanyeol’s form emerged slowly from behind it, and he gently kicked the door shut, before he met Yifan’s eyes, eyes flaring with a fire of determination. The ghost of a smile crossed his features at the expression his lover wore. Always so full of life, so adamant about what he wanted. He would always be _this_ , always be his Chanyeol.

And after tonight, forever would be in their hands.

Yifan tilted his head, pinning his lover with his stare. Then he lifted his hand, palm up, and crooked a finger at Chanyeol, beckoning him closer.

“Come.”

**Author's Note:**

> I am rather proud of this one, so I really hope it was to your liking <3
> 
> If it is of any interest, I have vague plans of a SuLay side. Whoop! I had loads of fun writing, in particular, Yixing in this, heh.
> 
> Huuuuuge thanks to Meg, my beloved beta and nightingale, for helping me with this! I owe her the remaining pitiful pieces of my soul <3
> 
> If you have questions, ask away and I’ll answer. Also, if you catch any typos neither Meg nor I have caught, or have other forms of constructive critique, please let me know so I can edit and improve my writing! English is not my first language. Furthermore, I really, really love comments <3
> 
> I think that's it for this fic. Until whenever, lovely readers!


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